


Feels Like Today

by beckettemory



Series: Sticks and Stones [2]
Category: Leverage
Genre: Aromantic Character, Asexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Other, Platonic Cuddling, Polyamory Negotiations, Queerplatonic Relationships, The Team Is Bad At Feelings, autistic characters, mostly fluff partially angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 17:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8499109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckettemory/pseuds/beckettemory
Summary: Eliot gives in and tells Parker and Hardison about his secret house in the country, and that opens the door to feelings for all three of them, both terrifying and wonderful.





	

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: non-explicit discussions of sex, food, slightly justified paranoia, mild ableist language, mentions of alcohol, non-explicit mentions of violence, non-explicit discussions of injuries, brief mention of guns, mentions of death, and mentions of murder

Eliot took a deep breath and looked around the front room of his little country house. 

Beate, his big, scruffy mutt, lay dozing sprawled out on the cool hardwood floor in between where Eliot sat on the couch and the doorway to the kitchen, effectively blocking him from getting to the kitchen without waking her up. His computer across the room still played his studying music--he’d been working on some homework to clear his mind before he decided if he really wanted to do this. 

His little house was perfect for him: it was quiet, secluded, safe, well-stocked with fresh foods and first aid supplies, and best of all, it was a secret. Not even Parker or Hardison knew about it. 

But that was getting lonely. 

Which was strange for him, being lonely. It was only after a year or more of working with a team that he’d begun to feel lonely again at all when he was apart from them for more than a week or two, after so many years working alone and liking it that way. At first physical loneliness had come back, and had been easily quashed with brief relationships with people he hadn’t wanted real relationships with and one-night-stands, the occasional hooking up with old friends from the service. 

Later still, nearly four years into being part of a team, emotional loneliness came back, and it was a few months of floundering and stubborn denial before he gave in and started opening up to his team and showing them who he really was. That had worked for some time, but he was still holding back, still holding his country house safe and secret. 

And now, with half his team having run off into the sunset together and the remaining members so much closer with each other than with him, the weight of having an entirely separate life out in the country weighed heavily on him. Living one life in the city, fast-paced and dangerous, and another in the country, relaxed and domestic, just wasn’t cutting it anymore. 

Six years into being part of a team and he was finally ready to  _ be _ part of a team. 

Which honestly should have meant that this next part was easier. That was not the case. 

Beate stirred and blinked sleepily at him, then rolled to her feet and stretched, yawning with a little yowl at the end. She trotted to him and put her head on his knee and he scratched softly behind her ears, prompting her to put one paw up on the couch and then look at him with a question in her eyes. He nodded and she happily jumped up onto the couch next to him and wriggled until she lay half in his lap, much too big to fit her entire body on him. 

As soon as she was settled Eliot realized with a groan that he was ready to make the call, and he looked down at the dog happily receiving pets with a thumping tail and her eyes closed. He knew that if he didn't do it now he’d miss his window, and who knows how long it would be before he was ready again. 

He sighed. “Sorry, darlin’, but you gotta get down. We can cuddle later.” 

Beate lifted and cocked her head, but her tail kept thumping away against the suede couch. When he took away his hands she nuzzled at one of them in confusion. 

“Dismissed,” he said firmly, and she immediately jumped down from the couch and trotted off, looking back grumpily before worming her way into the tight space under the small dining table. 

Groaning inwardly, Eliot stood and went to his computer. He switched off the music and pulled up his instant messaging program. He scanned the short list of contacts on the side and opened a chat with Hardison. Into the textbox he typed a string of numbers, followed by “tonight, 7:00” and hit send. He sent an identical message to Parker, and then shut down his computer. GPS coordinates. That should be intriguing enough to them. 

He glanced at the clock. Nearly three. 

If he was having company, he’d need to make some dinner. Luckily he had the perfect recipe that he’d wanted to make for a while but hadn’t had a reason to, just living by himself. 

He got ready to go, putting Beate out back to go hang out with the horses, stuffing his feet into his shoes and arms into his jacket, and grabbed his keys and wallet from the table in the entryway. He left his phone on the coffee table, but put in his earbud just in case. 

Before he headed out the door he did a once-over of his kitchen and fridge until he was satisfied he would remember everything he’d need to get from the supermarket. His garden grew a lot of things, but lamb shoulder and farro weren’t some of them. 

An hour and a half later, when he turned back into his driveway he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He was being watched. 

He knew better than to go looking for his watchers, so he pretended not to have noticed. He went about his business, mumbling to himself as he carried in his groceries and let Beate inside. She was muddy and he spent ten minutes chasing her around with a towel to try to dry her off, which she thought was an excellent game. By the time he caught her she was almost dry, mud everywhere on both her and his house, and he sighed as he rolled her onto her back and dried her stomach some more. The dog sufficiently dry and moderately clean, he was finally able to put away his groceries and get started on dinner. 

He was getting nervous. Or, well, he was getting  _ more _ nervous. This was a big step for him, letting people in. He’d done it before with disastrous results. 

_ That was different _ , he kept telling himself. His anxious brain had trouble coming up with reasons it was different, though, and he had to stop himself several times from calling Hardison and Parker and cancelling. 

His hands shook as he gathered his ingredients, but the familiar motions of tying herbs together with kitchen twine--oregano, thyme, rosemary, bay leaves--and slicing onions soothed him. He almost forgot his nerves, but every few minutes he was reminded that he was being watched and he lost his focus again. 

Eliot Spencer was a lurker. He was supposed to be invisible except when he was  _ purposefully  _ visible. He was supposed to be the  _ watcher _ , not the person being watched, and it made him itch. He had a pretty good idea who was watching him, and Parker wasn’t particularly dangerous, but the attention still made him want to put down his spatula and leave the stove on, slipping out the back door unnoticed as the house went up in flames. 

He gritted his teeth and kept working until the silence in the house became unbearable. Even Beate, usually full of energy and not above begging while he cooked, was quiet. After wiping his hands free of stray rice wine vinegar, Eliot went into the living room to turn on some music and saw her laying on the couch with her head on the armrest, the picture of relaxation except for her vigilant stare out of one of the front windows. 

“We bein’ watched?” Eliot asked as he scrolled through his music selections, and Beate grumbled in reply. He put on the  _ O Brother, Where Art Thou _ soundtrack and went back into the kitchen, humming along to “Po’ Lazarus” and feeling much better. 

While the main dish simmered on the stove and the pickled onions and desserts chilled in the refrigerator, he tackled the mess his muddy dog had left all over the house, armed with a Swiffer and some fabric cleaner, singing along with the Soggy Bottom Boys. 

After he finished cleaning he added the first vegetables to the big pot on the stove and set it back at a simmer, then changed clothes and started preparing the salad. He had a little extra time, so he threw some pecans in the oven to toast and took his time plating the salad. 

At ten minutes until 7, he took a deep breath, did a once-over of his living room, switched the music to something more suitable to entertaining, opened the front door, and stepped out onto the porch.

“Come on in,” he called. He didn’t see anyone in his wide front yard, but he knew they were there and listening. 

There was a rustle in the big oak tree near the street and Parker dropped out of it, landing lightly on her feet with narrowed eyes. A second later he heard a car door open and close, and Hardison walked up sharing Parker’s expression, but when Hardison saw Parker, he started. 

“Girl, how long you been there?” he asked. 

“Since four, give or take,” she said, shrugging. “You?”

“Five.” 

Eliot rolled his eyes and wordlessly went back inside, leaving the door open. He had Beate sit; she had a tendency to jump up on newcomers, and he wanted to give her something to do so she wouldn’t be tempted. Together, they waited a few long seconds until Hardison cautiously walked in, followed by a suspicious Parker. 

“Dinner’s almost ready. Close the door,” Eliot said shortly. Beate, trembling excitedly, started to get up, but he stopped her with a little tap on her head and she sat back obediently. 

Hardison and Parker were looking around in confusion, seeing little hints that this was Eliot’s house but not quite enough to convince them. Parker wandered over to the little table next to the door and trailed a couple fingers over the baseball bat leaning against it. Hardison squinted at the little wooden door on the wall. 

“I’ve been here before,” Hardison said, the pieces still not clicking together. He pointed at the wall safe. “I installed that.” 

Eliot nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“This was your friend’s house, you said,” Hardison said slowly. 

“I did,” Eliot said. 

Parker turned away from the table and went further into the room, eyeing the guitar on the stand and then running a finger along the spines of the books in the bookshelf. 

“You steal your friend’s house or something?” Hardison asked, somehow still not getting it. 

“Dammit, Hardison, no--” Eliot started, but Parker’s soft voice cut him off. 

“This is your house,” she said, looking at him for confirmation. 

He nodded, exasperated, hoping his ‘duh’ face was clear enough. Then he shook his head and released Beate, who immediately began inspecting the intruders. Eliot went into the kitchen, listening with a little grin as Hardison made surprised noises. Beate was probably loudly sniffing his crotch. She did that. 

Eliot put the finishing touches, which were time-sensitive, on the vinaigrette and topped the prepared salads with the toasted pecans. 

“Go wash up,” he called, and almost jumped when he turned to go put the salads on the table and saw Parker in the doorway, studying him intently. “Go wash up,” he repeated himself. “You been in a tree for three hours.” 

She just narrowed her eyes further and shoved off the door jamb. 

“Bathroom’s that way,” he said, pointing with a salad plate. “Through the bedroom, second door on the right.” 

Hardison grudgingly complied, Parker following. 

They were gone longer than it should’ve taken them to just wash their hands, but Eliot anticipated them snooping around, so he quietly finished adding the rest of the vegetables to the main course and sliced up some French bread, leaving Beate to supervise the visitors. 

Finally they made their way back to the dining area in the front room, where Eliot was nervously pouring three glasses of red wine. 

Hardison sat, oddly quiet, and Parker sat to his right, about as quiet as she was on normal occasions, but with an odd look on her face Eliot couldn’t quite parse. He sat on Parker’s other side. 

“You gonna say anything,” Eliot mumbled. 

“Nah, man, I’m just wonderin’ why we’re only findin’ out about your secret house more than a year after we moved here,” Hardison said, the picture of nonchalance.

Eliot sighed. “Eat the salad or it’ll wilt too much,” he instructed instead of giving an answer. 

“What is it?” Parker asked, her nose wrinkled. 

“Spinach salad with pecorino romano, homemade pickled onions, toasted pecans, and a warm brown butter vinaigrette,” Eliot said as he speared himself a bite. 

Parker made an impressed noise and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Hardison followed suit and hummed. 

“The onions are really good,” he said, sounding surprised. 

Eliot nodded, taking another bite, chewing, and swallowing before he set down his fork. 

“I didn’t tell you because I like my privacy,” he said. 

Hardison nodded slowly. “Yeah, we know.” 

“That’s not the only reason,” Parker said, and Eliot couldn’t tell if it was a statement of fact or a guess, but she was right. 

“I had to have a place I could go that you didn’t know about, where no one could find me,” Eliot continued. 

“How come?” Parker asked. 

Eliot shrugged. They were veering into uncomfortably-real territory, and it was just the salad course. He changed the subject as he picked up his fork again.

“How you like Beate?” he asked, nodding to his dog who lay under Hardison’s chair, a foot or more of her length sticking out on either side. 

“He’s… big,” Hardison said helplessly. 

“She,” Eliot corrected. 

“ _ She’s _ big.” 

“She sheds,” Parker complained, holding up a grey hair plucked from her black shirt. 

“Yeah, she needs a bath and a good brushing,” Eliot said. 

“Where’d you get her?” Hardison asked.

Eliot took a sip of wine. “The pound, right after I moved in. Place got lonely.” 

Hardison snorted. 

“What?” Eliot asked, daring Hardison to say it. 

“Maybe it got lonely ‘cuz your best buds didn’t know anything about it.” 

Eliot shook his head, mouth pressed into a line. 

“Well, I like it,” Parker said brightly. “It’s like you.” 

Eliot frowned at her. “What?” 

“This house. It’s like you. Closed up tight, secret, efficient,” she listed. She glanced around with pursed lips. “Pretty, soft… covered in hair.” 

Eliot scoffed. “Soft? I ain’t soft.” 

Parker raised her eyebrows. “Just this morning you were crying about snakes.” 

Eliot frowned at her, starting to think she’d hit her head on something on her way out of the tree. He looked to Hardison and wordlessly asked if they should be worried about her. 

“They--they don’t have any arms. Snakes,” Hardison said, and it sounded like an explanation, though Eliot was only more confused. “It’s… It’s a  _ Steven Universe  _ quote. You know what, never mind.” Parker grinned and just kept right on eating her salad. 

Eliot looked between them, thinking that even though they were the two weirdest people he’d ever met, he was somehow happy he was opening up to them. 

“O...kay,” he said slowly, refusing to let his affections show on his face. 

Hardison waved a dismissive hand. “So what’s behind doors number one and three?” he asked, gesturing to the bedroom. 

Eliot shook his head. “I’ll give you a tour after dinner.” 

Parker pointed to him with her fork, a puzzled look on her face. “So if you live here, what’s that apartment in the city?” 

Eliot shrugged. “Also my place. I stay there during jobs so I can be close at hand. It’s more secure than here, anyway. And I got more emergency supplies there.” 

She looked down at the dog under Hardison’s chair. “What about Beate?” 

“I got a farmhand who takes care of things around here,” Eliot said.

“A farmhand?” Hardison asked, a smirk at the corner of his mouth. 

“Yeah, Cody feeds her and the horses and takes care of my garden.” 

Hardison looked surprised, and Parker looked afraid. “Horses?” she asked. 

Eliot frowned. “Yeah, I got two of ‘em. Bonnie and Gambit. Y’all didn’t look out back when you came to snoop around?” 

Hardison shook his head. “I stayed in Lucille the whole time, man. I just watched through the front windows with binoculars.” 

“I got here right before you got back from the store and went up the tree really quick so you wouldn’t see me,” Parker said. “It was a pretty good lookout spot so I just stayed there.” 

Eliot shook his head. Thieves. 

The others were finished with their salads, so he swiftly cleared away the plates. While he plated the main course he heard them murmuring to each other but couldn’t tell what they were saying. 

As he set the shallow bowls in front of them he said, “Ragout of lamb with farro and spring vegetables.” 

Hardison looked impressed. Parker looked starving. 

“What’s farro?” Parker asked even as she shoved a forkful of stew into her mouth. 

“Kind of wheat,” Eliot explained shortly as he began eating. 

“Are these  _ turnips _ ?” Hardison asked, holding up a bulb with a bite taken out of it. Eliot nodded and Hardison raised his eyebrows and popped the rest of it in his mouth. 

“It’s good,” Parker hummed. 

Eliot smiled at her. “What do you feel?” 

Parker took another bite and closed her eyes. She chewed thoughtfully. “Springtime. Home.” She furrowed her brow and shook her head slightly. “Coming home.” Her brow smoothed out. “New beginnings.” 

She opened her eyes and Eliot grinned at her. 

“Perfect.” 

Hardison sighed contentedly. “Alright, man, I know you’re a gourmet cook or whatever, but there’s no way you could top this with dessert.” 

Eliot’s grin turned smug. “Watch me.” 

“What’s for dessert, then?” Hardison asked, disbelieving. 

“Creme brulee,” Eliot said. 

Hardison rolled his eyes. “You can do better than that,” he said. 

“Earl grey creme brulee,” Eliot said. 

Hardison’s disbelief dropped off his face and his mouth fell open. Parker’s eyes widened. 

“Oh my  _ god _ , that sounds good,” Hardison groaned. 

“It does. Is it ready? Do I have to wait? Can I have some  _ right now _ ?” Parker asked, rapidfire. 

Eliot chuckled and gestured with his fork. “Dinner first,  _ then _ dessert.” 

By the way both Parker and Hardison immediately flicked peas at him he could tell that they’d soon get over him not telling them about the house. They’d be fine.

 

* * *

 

Eliot was glad he’d laid down ground rules while he gave them a tour of his house, because the very next day they started invading his private space, barely stopping short of the boundaries he’d set. 

He came home from the pub, taking a detour to pick up some dog food, and found Lucille in his driveway and Parker laying on his couch. Beate lay completely on top of her and happily received pets. Hardison was snooping through his bookshelf. 

“You don’t live here,” Eliot said as he put his keys on the hook. 

Parker waved hello and resumed petting Beate’s face and neck. 

“Man, how many languages do you speak?” Hardison asked, forgoing a greeting altogether. He was peering at the shelf reserved for books in other languages. The one above it held his various English-to-foreign-language dictionaries, and the one below was devoted entirely to German and Russian books. 

Eliot shrugged. “Never really counted.” 

Hardison tapped the spine of several books, counting on the fingers on his other hand. “Russian, German, Arabic, Hebrew, Farsi… Portuguese? Spanish, French, Mandarin, Japanese. Ten. You speak ten languages.” 

Eliot frowned. “Eleven if you count English. I’m not fluent in Portuguese, French, or Farsi, though, and I'm just startin’ to learn Mandarin,” he corrected. “So really, I speak seven.” 

Hardison finally turned to look at him, a look of disbelief on his face. “Man, you know how many languages I speak?” He didn’t let Eliot guess. “Three, and just barely. English, Spanish, French. Five if you count programming languages.” 

Eliot shrugged again. “Not my fault I’m smarter’n you.” 

Hardison looked put out, and Parker laughed from the couch. 

“Rude,” Hardison said, to both of them. “Parker, how many you speak?” 

Parker thrummed her fingers on Beate’s head as she hummed in thought, and Beate closed her eyes, enjoying it. 

“Six,” she said. “English, Portuguese, Spanish, French, Swedish, and Hebrew.” 

She grinned cheekily at Hardison, who pouted. 

Eliot shook his head. “Did y’all come straight here from the brew pub? How’d you get here so fast?”

Hardison’s pout was replaced by a look of astonishment and he pointed at Parker in accusation. “Homegirl drove like a maniac. I thought she was gonna kill Lucille. Almost did, too. That switchback outside of town? Straight up  _ dangerous _ .” 

Parker just kept grinning. 

“Alright, but  _ why? _ ” Eliot asked. 

Hardison shrugged. “We were bored.”

So Eliot made dinner and afterwards Parker pestered him into playing his guitar. Hardison grumbled about his lack of a tv and Eliot pointedly ignored him. 

The next day they didn’t have any plans as a team, so Eliot planned to spend the day outside in his garden and cleaning up his yard, raking up the last remnants of last fall’s leaves that had frozen under the frost. They’d been busy most of the winter and early spring with a series of connected jobs one after the next, and each had taken longer than it should have as they worked out the kinks in the crew without Nate and Sophie. 

He definitely  _ planned _ to spend the day outside, but at nine when he wandered outside in his gardening clothes with a water bottle in hand and a protein bar tucked into his pocket, he saw Lucille parked in the street and groaned. Parker got out and tried to convince him to come back to the brew pub to hang out, but Eliot refused, citing his overgrown garden. 

So Hardison emerged from the van too and the two of them sat in the grass just beyond the garden while Eliot worked, chatting and pointing out spots he’d missed in his weeding. At one point Parker flitted inside and came back wearing one of Eliot’s work shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, and got down on her hands and knees beside him to help. 

She ended up accidentally pulling up one of his best tomato plants, but it was mostly intact so he was able to replant it with no problem. She wasn’t a good gardener, but an extra set of hands was an extra set of hands, so Eliot was happy for the help. 

After he deemed the garden satisfactory, they went inside, Eliot taking a quick shower while Parker and Hardison snooped through God-knows-what. Afterwards, he scrounged up some lunch while Parker showered, and Hardison twanged horribly on Eliot’s guitar until he took it away with a growl. Lunch eaten and dishes washed and put away, Parker and Hardison succeeded in dragging Eliot back to the brew pub with them, where they played video games in the living area upstairs from the briefing room.

The brew pub wasn’t home to any of them, but it was their common space. After Hardison had bought the building the upper room was left bare, a big, open space with just one bathroom at the far end. Hardison was slowly transforming it into an apartment, and he was not quite clear if he would live there or rent it out. 

He’d put up walls, separating the huge open room into a living space and three bedrooms, adding two more small bathrooms as well, so each bedroom had an adjoining bathroom. The living space, with its small but functional kitchen and the glass wall looking out over the stairs up from the briefing room, was the only upstairs room currently fully furnished, with a little bistro table with stools surrounding and a couple couches and an impressive tv-video-game-BluRay-player-stereo setup that put all of Hardison’s previous audiovisual configurations to shame. The walls of the living area were a nice weathered red brick, but they were carefully insulated to keep the Portland chill out. A red footlocker that served as a coffee table also held blankets, and at least two were always thrown about, as Parker liked to huddle beneath them in her downtime. 

Hardison alternated between sleeping in a townhouse he rented across town and stretching out on a pallet in one of the future bedrooms, the latter usually when he was playing contractor himself and lost track of time. Parker had scouted out, equipped, and secured another warehouse to live in when they’d moved, and she happily returned there every night, except when she also fell asleep at the brew pub, usually curled up on a couch with her Netflix queue playing cartoons on a loop. 

On days they weren’t actively on a job they split up, though more often than not they all found their way to the brewpub to hang out, under the guise of being available should a potential client come in suddenly. 

In the month after Eliot told them about his house, the three of them began spending more time together as friends, not as coworkers. It was different than before; back then, the times they hung out were all framed as in-between moments, just ways to kill time between close-together cons or celebrate a job well done before dispersing and going about their business alone. Back then it was beer and sporting events, poker night, the occasional movie. Now it was movie marathons, Mario Kart tournaments, board game night, going out to dinner or staying in as Eliot cooked, or even just sitting in one spot and telling jokes and stories. 

It was one such night when Eliot realized just how well and truly fucked he was. 

“No, no, wait,” he laughed, holding out a hand to shush Hardison. “So I’m on the phone with the minister, right, and Noland turns to me and he says, ‘you’re not the sheriff!’”

Hardison giggled, actually fucking giggled, into his soda. Parker, bundled up in a thick blanket with her hands pressed to her mouth to stifle her laugh, kicked her feet against the couch. 

“What did you do?” Parker asked when she could speak again. 

Eliot dropped his smile from his face and looked away, focused on the beer bottle in his hand and the label he was slowly peeling off. “I, uh, had to kill him,” he said solemnly. 

Parker and Hardison both froze, and when he looked up they looked uncomfortable and a little afraid. Then he cracked a mischievous smile and they both narrowed their eyes. 

“You’re messin’ with us,” Hardison said, a slow grin sliding across his face. 

“I am,” Eliot said. 

Parker sat forward from where she leaned into the corner of the couch and shoved him playfully, sending him slumped over towards Hardison, who shoved him back. He just grinned the whole time. 

“Nah, I didn’t kill him,” Eliot said. “I did tie him to a chair and leave him in a walk-in freezer while I got the hell out, though.” 

Hardison rolled his eyes and started to speak, but Parker started a story before he could, and Eliot stifled a laugh at his annoyed expression. 

“One time, I had to pretend to date a mark,” Parker said, wrinkling her nose. “He took me on a date to a super fancy restaurant and ordered for me.” 

“Yeah, we were there for that one,” Hardison reminded her. 

“How’d that all go down, though?” Eliot asked. “I just remember havin’ to switch to plan D or whatever because you threw sorbet at him. Think I was busy in the basement during most of it.” 

Parker rearranged herself, pulling her arms out of the blanket and crossing her legs up under her so she could properly tell the story while talking with her hands. 

“He kept getting this weird look on his face like he wanted to eat me,” she said. “And he kept talking about how it was really warm in the restaurant. So then after he gave up the location of the pendant the waiter brought out this nasty sorbet--I think it was olive flavored?--and he said something else, I don’t remember, but I threw the sorbet in his face to cool him down,” she finished, beaming proudly. 

Eliot closed his eyes. “Parker, he wasn’t  _ actually _ warm, he was comin’ on to you.” 

She scoffed. “I know. He was gross. But it  _ was  _ kinda warm in there, so,” she finished, throwing up her hands in an exaggerated shrug. 

“Two birds,” Hardison said. “You left out the part where he said you looked like his dead sister and called you sexy in the same breath, though.” 

Eliot snorted. “Nasty,” he muttered into his beer. 

“Y’all wanna go get dinner?” Hardison asked, looking at his watch. “Or we could order in. Fridge only has condiments and soda right now,” he said when Eliot looked toward the small kitchen area. 

Parker hummed in thought. Eliot nodded. 

“I could go for some Italian,” Eliot said, and Parker  _ ooh _ ed. 

“Spaghetti sounds good.” Parker shrugged off her blanket and stood, stretching her legs fluidly to ease whatever stiffness had set in from sitting most of the afternoon. 

She swiftly toed on her shoes and Eliot hauled himself off the couch with some difficulty. He’d received a nice beating on their last job and returned it to sender, sustaining a mildly separated shoulder and a sprained ankle, aside from the usual bruised knuckles and split lips, and his ankle was still giving him trouble. 

He wobbled a little as he stuffed his feet into his boots, his bad ankle creaking treacherously when he shifted his weight onto it, and he felt a warm hand catch his elbow. He leaned on it for support without thinking until he got his boots on his feet, then looked up to see Hardison watching him with concern. 

“You alright, man?” Hardison asked, and Eliot shrugged him off. 

“Fine,” he said curtly, trying not to think about how steady and warm Hardison’s hand had been. Hardison shrugged, but didn’t move away.

Eliot put a foot up on the edge of the couch and stooped a little to tie his boot, and when he switched to stand on his bad ankle he wobbled again. Once again, Hardison caught him, this time steadying his hips. He felt his face heating up in embarrassment, but let Hardison hold him steady until he was all laced up. 

“Your ankle?” Parker asked from where she stood next to the door waiting for them. 

“Yeah,” Eliot said, straightening up and moving out of Hardison’s reach. He had to focus to keep from obviously limping, and succeeded in maintaining a stride that was almost even, just a touch slower on the left side. His boots laced up over his ankles, so they provided some stability. “It’s fine.”

Parker hummed and just held open the door. They filed out and down the stairs into their briefing area, then out through the moderately busy pub. 

At the restaurant Parker clung to him, linking her arm with his in a way that actually supported his bad side a little bit, and she leaned her head on his shoulder as he spoke to the hostess, and again while they stood off to one side of the crowded waiting area to wait for a table. His heart thumped when she ran her free hand over the sleeve of his jacket, feeling the texture of the braided leather belts that decorated the cuffs. 

He frowned down at her but didn’t shake her off. Parker didn’t touch people unless she was fighting them, stealing their stuff, or it was part of a con. Six years ago she wouldn’t have been caught dead touching anyone for any reason except lifting their wallet. And now, for her to not only be touching someone on purpose, but apparently of her own free will and with no malicious intent? Eliot felt his heart swell a little at being trusted so much. With Hardison it had been less of a surprise; they’d always been okay with casual contact, their handshake, the occasional hug. 

He started to watch them, really pay attention to how they moved around each other and him. Parker let go of him as the hostess led them to their table, but Hardison pressed his hand gently to the small of her back to get her to lead the way. As they ate, Hardison nudged him, touch lingering slightly, to call his attention to the quietly heated argument at the next table between two older men who were apparently secretly dating. Later, Parker held out her own fork, laden with spaghetti, for Hardison to try a bite. 

Something was different between the three of them, but Eliot didn’t know what. He found that he wasn’t even opposed to the idea of things changing. 

_ We change together. _

 

* * *

 

Eliot kept watching them over the next few weeks, but noticed something else equally as surprising as Parker being okay with physical affection: feelings. He was having feelings for both Parker and Hardison. 

They were strange feelings; not like what he’d experienced before, falling in love with Aimee or his first boyfriend Bennett or any of the others, or like when he locked eyes with someone across a crowded bar and knew somewhere in the pit of his stomach that he would be taking them home that night. It wasn’t even like the familial feelings he felt towards Nate and Sophie, or his own real-life siblings. 

These feelings were confusing as hell, but somehow also made perfect sense. 

Of  _ course  _ they wouldn’t have anything approaching a normal friendship. They were three autistic thieves, one of whom had PTSD and had killed dozens of people, one of whom crawled through air ducts for a living and may or may not have killed multiple of her foster parents, and one of whom was better friends with his computers themselves than any real people. 

Hardison’s nana had always said, “normal is what works for you,” but Eliot doubted that what worked for them could be considered normal even by that standard. 

He lay awake most nights going over the events of the day--not the big ones, the jobs, the fights, the chases, the successes, but the little things, mostly touches, that continued to shift his whole worldview. 

In one day Hardison had managed to compliment Eliot twice, and apparently sincerely, as well as pull him into a tight hug that Eliot didn’t pull away from. Granted, Eliot had been shot at and had to grapple six guys and one person of indeterminate gender for their weapons and then onto the ground, and had lost radio contact with Hardison in the thick of it. When Eliot rounded the corner into their temporary base of operations Hardison had been almost crying he was panicking so hard. The bone-crushing hug had been a surprise, but Eliot let him hold him tight just so he could feel, really feel, that Eliot was there and intended to make good on his promise to be there for them. 

On the same day Parker had perched on the arm of Eliot's chair at their morning briefing, eating a bowl of cereal at first but then absentmindedly playing with his hair once she’d finished eating. After they had been reunited after his admittedly not-very-challenging fight, Parker had refused to stray far from him until he finally was able to go home by himself at nearly midnight, even going so far as holding his hand while they drove back to the brew pub. 

They’d watched a movie, more for Parker and Hardison’s benefit than Eliot’s; they were still anxious about the fight and nothing Eliot said had been able to convince them that he was never in any real danger. So they’d put on a chill movie, one of Hardison’s favorites,  _ My Neighbor Totoro _ , and crammed onto one couch upstairs in the brew pub. Actually, Eliot had sat down first, then Hardison at a reasonable distance, and then Parker had wedged herself into the space between them. Eliot had rolled his eyes but slung an arm around Parker and rested his hand on Hardison’s shoulder, and Parker had held Hardison’s hand for most of the movie. 

On another day, Eliot had caught himself straightening Hardison’s tie and picking a long blonde hair off his shirt before sending him into a meeting with a mark. Parker had been scolding him preemptively about overselling the grift, perched on the kitchenette counter in their hotel suite. Hardison had rolled his eyes at both of them but absentmindedly brushed his hand down Eliot’s upper arm as he left and winked confidently at Parker. After he left Parker and Eliot had exchanged a look of mild confusion, before shrugging it off and going back to the job at hand. 

When the grift had gone bad and Hardison ultimately blew his cover, Eliot had charged into the building, chastising Hardison the whole time he took down the four guards and Parker tailed the mark. Only as he’d hauled Hardison to his feet did he realize he was hurt. One eye was swelling shut and he carefully kept one arm pressed to his side. Experience told Eliot that Hardison had a bruised, maybe cracked rib, and he’d immediately felt bad for yelling at him and helped him out of the building and left him in the van after making sure he wasn't hurt too bad. 

The bad guys taken care of and the mark securely surveilled, Eliot had driven back to their base and helped Hardison inside and patched him up. Hardison had been hurt before, and worse than this, but seeing him with a bag of frozen peas pressed to his eye had made Eliot’s heart lurch in a way he didn't quite understand yet. So instead of saying anything and risking putting his foot squarely in his mouth, he had taped up Hardison’s cracked ribs and run to the corner store for more orange soda, gummy frogs, and a big container of chicken soup. It wasn’t his own soup and therefore it wasn’t very good, but the suite hadn’t had a stove so he couldn’t have actually cooked anything. After Parker and Eliot wrapped up the con, with Hardison safely assisting at his computer in the suite, they had camped out for a few days, taking naps and watching movies, until Hardison had felt recovered enough to fly back to Portland. 

One day, about five weeks after Eliot first invited them to his country house for the first time, he and Hardison were driving back to the brew pub after finishing up a job. Parker’s warehouse was nearby and she’d wanted to wash off the quickly hardening mud before they did the wrap-up and met with the client, so she'd gone home on her own and would meet up with them later. 

It was rush hour, and they were almost at a standstill on Interstate 5, and Hardison’s driving playlist had run out, so they sat more or less in silence. 

“You noticed anything weird lately?” Hardison asked, his thumb wearing a patch of the leather steering wheel shiny. 

“Huh?” Eliot asked. “Like, what, Parker meeting a Monegasque princess while covered in mud and no one mentioning it? ‘Cuz that was kinda weird.” 

Hardison chuckled. “No, man, like. Weird between us. You, me, and Parker.” 

Eliot blinked. So it wasn’t just him. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, wanting to know Hardison’s thoughts before letting his own slip out.

Hardison gestured vaguely. “You know. Like something’s… changed, I guess. Used to be, we were friends and all, but now we--I dunno, we’re… somethin’ else. Like…” He shuffled in his seat and held up a hand as if holding his idea and turning it around in his fingers. “We’re like. Touchin’ on each other more. And hangin’ out more. And it’s nice, and all, but it’s different.” 

He was right. He was spot-fucking-on, and that was a change, Hardison making sense. Usually he was using too much technobabble for Eliot to follow, but his stuttered, vague description made perfect sense to Eliot. 

Eliot had been opening up with them more lately, but this was too much. His old habit of uncomfortably avoiding extremely personal topics kicked in and he found himself laughing derisively. He felt bad when he saw Hardison’s expression shutter, but he kept laughing. 

“Nah, man, that’s stupid,” he said, unable to stop. 

Hardison stared out the windshield, completely guarded now, and his hands went back to the steering wheel, gripping tight despite the completely stagnant interstate. 

“Never mind,” Hardison said, and didn’t speak again until they exited the interstate half an hour later. 

Eliot felt bad, of course, but didn’t have the words or opportunity to apologize to Hardison for a week, during which absolutely nothing changed. Hardison still pulled them into hugs and furtively watched them, Parker still absentmindedly played with Eliot’s hair and squeezed herself  _ behind _ them while they sat on the couch, and Eliot still found himself brushing hair out of Parker’s eyes and trailing a hand around their waists in passing, even through their next job. Whenever they found themselves alone in the break room of the office they were running a job in or stopped by each other’s cubicles they could barely maintain enough personal space to pass for mere colleagues should someone walk by and see them. 

They were screwed. Completely screwed.

 

* * *

 

“Think we should do waffles instead of pancakes. Yeah,” Hardison said, nodding to himself. “Definitely waffles.” 

Parker shook her head. “Crepes,” she said, and Hardison  _ ooh _ ed. 

Eliot snorted. “Really? You gonna make ‘em?” he asked. 

It was board game night. The three of them were playing  _ Betrayal at House on the Hill _ in the brew pub sitting room and planning brunch tomorrow. Or, rather, Parker and Hardison were “planning,” and Eliot, as the person who would actually be cooking, was shooting down most of their ideas. 

Hardison moved his game piece two tiles and then pulled another tile from the stack. 

“Alright, Little Brandon Jaspers happens upon the library and somethin’ spooky happens,” he said, drawing a card from the deck of event cards. 

“This is weird,” Parker blurted. 

Hardison, about to read the card, closed his mouth and frowned at her. 

“What?” Eliot asked. 

Parker gestured vaguely. “This. Us. It’s weird.” 

Hardison raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Eliot, like he was saying “You  _ see?!” _

“You’re right,” Hardison agreed with Parker. “It is.”

Eliot sighed and threw his hands up. “Fine. It’s a little weird.” 

There was an awkward silence. 

“So, what,” Hardison said, turning to Eliot, “Are you like… having feelings or something?” 

Eliot grimaced and shrugged. “Define ‘feelings’.” 

Parker pursed her lips. “I’m having feelings, I think. I don’t know what  _ kind _ of feelings. Kind of feels like… you know when it’s really cold out and you eat some chicken noodle soup and your stomach gets all warm?” 

Eliot leaned back in his chair, a little uncomfortable. They were really talking about this, then. And what Parker was describing… 

Hardison nodded, staring at the table. 

“That’s love, Park,” Eliot mumbled. “What you’re talkin’ about.” 

Parker’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “I’m not in love with you. Either of you,” she said quickly. She hesitated. “Are… are you guys in love with me?” 

Eliot had to think,  _ really _ think about it. He’d been trying to figure out precisely whether he was in love with them for weeks. So far he hadn’t come up with an answer, and at Parker’s question he tried to come up with a definitive answer before the silence stretched on too long. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Hardison said after a long pause. 

Eliot bit his lip, still thinking. Parker and Hardison were waiting, and staring at him, and his skin was crawling under their stares. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally, figuring honesty was the best policy here. “Been tryin’ to figure that out for a while.” 

Hardison scrubbed a hand over his short hair and then rubbed at his chin. “There’s… other kinds of love, though. Like, I’m not  _ in _ love with y’all, but I do… I do love you,” he said, looking embarrassed as he said the last part. 

Eliot nodded. That made more sense. “Like family,” he said in agreement. 

They both hesitated. 

“I don’t know what family feels like,” Parker said quietly. 

Eliot cursed himself. Of course she didn’t. Hardison probably didn’t either. “Sure you do,” he said, a little desperately. “Like with Nate and Sophie.” 

Parker nodded slowly. “I guess. This feels different, though.” 

“Yeah,” Hardison agreed. 

Eliot sighed. They were right. 

“It’s like family, but… different,” he said. “Really different.” 

Hardison flicked at a game piece. “Guess we aren’t gonna finish the game.” 

Parker and Eliot both shook their heads. Hardison sighed and got up. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out another bottle of orange soda and a gallon of sweet tea, which he poured into a glass, and then poured a mug of coffee and added a dangerous amount of sugar. Carrying the beverages, he made his way to the couch. Eliot and Parker followed, each sitting carefully apart from the others. Hardison handed the coffee to Parker and the tea to Eliot, and cracked open the soda. He took a long pull of the neon liquid and leaned back on the couch. 

“So.” 

Eliot chuckled nervously. “So,” he echoed. 

“So?” Parker added. 

“What’re we doing here?” Eliot asked, tapping his short fingernails against his glass. 

“I think we were tryin’ to figure out feelings,” Hardison said. 

Eliot snorted. “Three autistics tryin’ to figure out emotions. That’ll go well.” 

Parker let out a  _ hmph _ noise. 

“Maybe instead of tryin’ to figure out feelings we should figure out what we want,” Hardison suggested, sounding nervous. 

Eliot shrugged. “Alright. Do y’all… want to. To date?” he asked haltingly. 

Parker shook her head quickly. “I don’t like dating.” 

Eliot let out a breath and looked at Hardison. 

“I like dating,” Hardison said, sounding sheepish. “I dunno if I’d want to date  _ you two _ , but I. I like dating.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Eliot said, then furrowed his brow. “Then, what, you wanna just. Have sex?” he asked, wincing. 

This time Hardison shook his head. “I don’t like havin’ sex,” he said quietly. He was staring down at the coffee table, but he peeked up at them nervously, no doubt trying to gauge their reactions.

“Are you asexual?” Parker asked neutrally, cocking her head to the side. 

“Yep,” Hardison said slowly, popping the ‘p’ sound. Parker hummed in acknowledgement.

“I like sex,” Parker said. “Maybe not with you guys, though.” 

Eliot rubbed his face and leaned back into his chair, groaning. “I like dating  _ and _ sex. You don’t like dating but you like sex,” he said, pointing to Parker. “And  _ you  _ like dating but you don’t like sex,” he said, pointing to Hardison. 

“I’m aromantic,” Parker said, evidently not quite finished on that train of thought. 

Eliot nodded, pausing until she looked at him.  _ Now _ she was done. 

“How do we do this?” Eliot asked. “If we didn’t all three of us date or all three of us have sex.” 

“I don’t want to have sex with either of you,” Parker repeated. “I don’t think.” 

Hardison took a long sip of his soda, his brow furrowed in thought. “I got some friends online,” he said. “Four of ‘em, but I’m only really friends with two. They got some kind of deal goin’ where they’re… Basically, they’re dating but they’re not?” 

Parker bounced in her seat suddenly and pointed at him, a grin spreading across her face. “Queerplatonic!” 

Eliot quirked an eyebrow at her. “Huh?” 

“I forgot!” she said, pulling her feet under her so she knelt on the couch and excitedly bounced on her heels. “That’s what it’s called!” 

“Queerplatonic,” Eliot repeated, trying out the shape of the word in his mouth. “So like… platonic, but in a queer way.” 

Hardison snorted. “Yep. Like. They ain’t datin’, they ain’t doin’ the do, they ain’t just friends. The way they talk about it, there’s all the commitment of dating without the actual dating part.” He seemed to realize something. “Huh. Now that I think about it, they’re a lot like us. The way they interact an’ all.” 

Parker hummed. “That’s us. We’re queerplatonic.” 

Eliot shook his head. He didn’t quite get all this enough to just go along with it. “Wait, so… We do this, we gonna stop seein’ other people? We gonna be--well, I’d say monogamous, but...” 

Hardison and Parker fell silent, both considering. 

“It depends on us, I guess,” Parker replied at length. Eliot had never seen her so unsure. 

“I’m not opposed to seein’ other people,” Hardison said warily. 

Parker shook her head, looking more confident now that someone else had answered. “I’d be okay with still sleeping with people who aren’t you guys and you doing the same.” 

They nodded at each other, Hardison smiling softly, before they turned to Eliot. 

He tried to imagine being… whatever, committed, to the two of them, and know that Hardison was dating someone else, or Parker had a fuck buddy, and neither of them dating or sleeping with him. He tried to imagine whether he’d be jealous having to share, and, well, that was his answer, because he would already be sharing Parker with Hardison and vice versa. Sharing with someone outside the three of them didn’t seem like it would be that big of a deal. 

He shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think I’d mind,” he said. “Can’t be sure unless it comes up, ‘course.” 

Hardison’s smile spread into a grin, and Parker smiled too, bouncing a little on her heels, still kneeling on the couch. 

“So are we doing this?” Hardison asked breathlessly. “We gonna be… shit, what’d we call each other? Boyfriends or whatever?” 

Parker shook her head. “Not boyfriend and girlfriend.” 

“Best friends?” Eliot offered. He immediately shook his head, hating the way it felt on his tongue. It was true, maybe, for what they’d been a couple years ago. Not now. “Nah.” 

Parker shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and taking a long pull of the coffee she still held, looking deep in thought. 

“Partners,” she said after a long pause. 

Eliot grinned. That felt right. “Partners,” he agreed. 

Hardison danced a little in his seat excitedly. “Partners!” 

Parker laughed happily, and it was maybe the most beautiful sound in the world at that moment. “Partners in crime,” she giggled. 

“Business partners,” Hardison offered. 

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Y’all’re ridiculous.” 

Hardison grinned cheekily. “But you love us.” 

Eliot groaned and leaned back in his chair, smacking a hand to his face. “Lord help me, I do.” 

He heard quick shuffling noises from Parker’s direction and a moment later from Hardison’s, and he didn’t have time to defend himself before Hardison sat heavily in his lap and Parker jumped onto the back of his chair and hugged him around the neck and shoulders. 

He couldn’t even be all that upset about it.

 

* * *

“Lift it higher!” Eliot shouted down the stairs at Hardison. 

“I  _ am _ lifting it higher! You lift it  _ lower! _ ” Hardison griped back, and the bottom corner of the mattress wobbled dangerously. 

“That doesn’t even make  _ sense _ ,” Eliot growled. 

Parker, carrying a stack of boxes three feet high and probably weighing fifty pounds, flitted lightly up the stairs, breezing past her partners struggling to move Hardison’s mattress, and they both griped at her as she jostled them. 

They were moving the three of them into the newly finished bedrooms of the apartment above the brew pub. Or, well, they were moving Parker and Hardison in, and they were relocating most of Eliot’s things from his city apartment to the brew pub. He was selling the other apartment, as he almost never used it anymore since becoming partners with Parker and Hardison two weeks ago. All he really needed was a place in the city he could live during jobs so he could more quickly be on hand when the crew needed him, as well as a place to patch himself up and recuperate after injuring himself. He didn’t like coming straight home from jobs to his own house either, as the mental space he was usually in during jobs made Beate and his horses uneasy. 

Hardison did absolutely nothing halfway, and Eliot wasn’t entirely sure they’d be able to fit the California King-size mattress in his bedroom, let alone with enough room to move around or get to his computer, but somehow they made it fit and there was plenty of room left. Knowing Hardison, this had been his plan all along and while putting up the walls in the apartment he’d measured them carefully to allow his future bedroom to accommodate his lavish lifestyle. 

In the time it took Eliot and Hardison to wrestle the huge mattress and its box spring up the stairs, Parker had moved all of her things except the larger pieces of furniture into her own room and half of Eliot’s things to the sitting room, squeezing past them on the narrow stairs over and over, humming to herself and ignoring their bickering. 

Once Eliot and Hardison succeeded in reassembling the bed frame and putting the mattress on, Hardison sprawled out on it, breathing heavily. Eliot sat on the edge of the bed to rest and kicked off his boots. 

“I’m takin’ a break,” he grunted. 

“Me too,” Hardison mumbled. 

Parker appeared in the doorway. “You guys are lazy,” she said, leaning on the doorframe. 

“Didn’t see you tryin’ to move this mattress,” Eliot said, laying back on the bed. 

Parker shrugged. “No, I was actually productive instead,” she said with a little mischievous smile. 

Eliot growled and closed his eyes. 

“Are you taking a nap?” Parker asked, and Eliot felt the bed shift a little as Hardison sat up, and a moment later he heard two thumps as Hardison’s shoes hit the floor. 

“Yeah,” Hardison said as he lay back down. 

There was a click and through his eyelids Eliot saw the overhead light go off. He didn’t hear Parker cross the room but felt the mattress dip a little on his other side as she joined them. 

The three of them shifted slowly, having never shared a bed before, to lay closer together. Eliot lay in the middle, on his back, and Hardison lay on his side carefully with a foot of space between him and Eliot. Parker was less cautious; she curled up on her side much closer than Hardison, her head mere inches from Eliot’s shoulder. 

They were all exhausted, but Eliot couldn’t relax, and didn’t feel either of his partners relaxing much either; their breathing remained steady, but not the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Rather, it was the carefully controlled breathing of one trying to appear still and calm. 

Finally, Eliot sighed and reached out both arms to wrap around their shoulders and pull them close. It wasn’t quite effective; the angles were weird, but it was enough invitation for them to shift closer to him. Hardison cautiously lay his head on Eliot’s shoulder and put a warm hand on his chest. Parker turned over so her back was to Eliot, but her spine pressed right up into his side and she lay her head on his arm and held onto his hand. 

Simultaneously, they all let out a breath, and then laughed. 

“That was harder than it should’ve been,” Hardison muttered when things quieted down. 

Eliot yawned. “Still pretty new,” he mumbled. 

“I’m going to sleep,” Parker said. 

“Go ‘head, we won’t stop you,” Hardison said, reaching over to rub her shoulder lightly. 

She yawned and hummed contentedly. “We should get pizza tonight,” she said. 

Eliot shook his head. “I got a date.” 

“Oh?” Hardison asked casually. “Who’s the lucky girl?” 

Eliot smirked. “I met him gettin’ coffee the other day,” he said. 

“Him?” Parker asked, and Eliot realized belatedly that he’d never told them he was bi. 

“Yeah,” he said casually, electing to not make a big deal of it. 

Hardison tapped his chest softly. “What’s his name?” he asked, and Eliot felt relief wash over him. 

“Paul,” Eliot said. He yawned. “He’s an architect.” 

Hardison hummed. When he next spoke he sounded sleepy. “He cute?” 

“Yeah. Tall, too,” Eliot confirmed. Hardison nodded slowly against his shoulder and didn’t respond. 

He listened idly to his partners. Parker’s breathing had grown steady, a real sleep rhythm this time, and Hardison was nearly there. He smiled sleepily to himself and turned his head to kiss Hardison’s forehead softly, and then the top of Parker’s head. 

“Might just sleep through it instead,” he mumbled to himself, and as Hardison hummed sleepily he smiled broader, feeling like today was the first day of the rest of his life. 

**Author's Note:**

> little trivia notes:  
> -Beate is a German Shepherd/Irish Wolfhound mix. she Big  
> -"Monegasque" is one of the words for someone from Monaco, the second smallest country by population and size after Vatican City and the smallest independent monarchy in the world  
> -I have never once written Eliot saying he loves someone. He shows it and he agrees when other people say he does, but he never explicitly says it himself and this pains me


End file.
